CHAPTER 41
IRIDIUM
Since partnering with Corp-Co to facilitate the branding of a Heroic Identity, we have seen a 40% net profit increase across all divisions.
—Quarterly report, Chicago Consolidated Hauling, September 2106
Iridium knew about Career Day, in an abstract way—it was what kids who didn’t have superpowers got. Normal kids, deciding on their normal lives. She hid a yawn behind her hand. She was fairly sure normal kids didn’t have to sit through dozens of corporate presentations vying for her application to be the face of everything from cars to cat food.
No more regimented classes on theory, here in Fourth Year—now it was practice, training patrols, and practical instruction on heroing. Iridium was always covered in bruises and scrapes from the full-contact sessions Lancer ran, and she was always tired from memorizing page after page of criminal code.
But today was different. Today was the lottery.
Frostbite’s head dipped, and she jabbed him. Night was standing at the end of the row of chairs set up in the cafeteria, and she could feel his eyes sweep over the crowd at regular intervals. Derek would kill her if he got sent to detention for sleeping and ended up sponsored by hemorrhoid cream.
Jet was in the front row, of course. She was always front and center these days, it seemed. Iridium had lost count of the number of practices and classes that got interrupted by press. The press loved Jet. Face like an angel, powers like a nightmare. Tragic origin story. She couldn’t have been more perfect if she’d planned it.
“That concludes our presentation,” said the Superintendent. “Please put your name in the datapad for all sponsorships that have piqued your interest. The preliminary lottery is in one week.”
Iridium knew that the chance portion of the branding lottery was a sham at best—how else did you explain how her father, Blackout, and Night had walked off with the three biggest sponsorships in their year—Lester, the City of New Chicago; Blackout, Mid-Atlantic Petroleum; and Night … well, you couldn’t walk past a bus stop without seeing Night’s face these days.
Three best friends, three plum jobs. Iridium knew she’d never get the same treatment. She followed Derek and Chen down the row of corporate booths, putting her name in for anything that didn’t repel her too much.
She’d never get past the interview, anyway. Once the sponsors drew five student names, they interviewed the candidates and picked the most marketable. The one with the biggest muscles or smile (or hell, even breasts), the one with the cleanest-cut past and best party line.
Iridium was none of those things.
“This sucks,” she told Derek. “My entire life is depending on some corporate wankstick liking the way I pose.”
“Careful who hears you say that,” he said, as the representative from Kensington Semiconductors glared at Iridium. “These wanksticks are all that stands between us and some paper-pushing job in Ops.”
Iridium curled her lip. What was worse—being at the beck and call of Corp and her sponsor, or sitting in a stifling room with the other washouts who couldn’t get a sponsor in the first place?
After a stultifying hour, the Superintendent called them back. “We have a special announcement before you are dismissed,” he said. “Here to present the news is Vice Mayor Petrelli.”
The vice mayor bounded up and took the PA, to polite applause. “Thank you, Superintendent. On behalf of the City of New Chicago, I’m delighted to announce that we’ve signed an early deal with a student here today to be our official Hero.”
Murmurs ran through the room, along with groans from heroes who’d hoped to pluck the prime spot in their city. Hornblower cursed under his breath. Dawnlighter pouted.
Vice Mayor Petrelli extended his hand. “The city is very pleased to recognize … Jet.”
Iridium felt like someone had kicked her in the gut. “Jet?” she hissed.
Frostbite blinked in shock. “Whoa. Guess you won’t be doing a cosponsorship, huh?”
Iridium set her jaw. “I guess not.”
Jet took the PA. “Thank you, Mr. Petrelli, and thank you to the entire city for putting this enormous trust in me. When I graduate, I will not let you down.”
Iridium stood up and left rather than listen to the rest of the speech. In the hallway, the temperature dropped, and Night stepped out of a shadowed door.
“You should try being happy for your friend.”
“Hooray for corporate lackeys,” Iridium said, deadpan.
Night leaned in, the way he had the day he’d threatened to break her arm. “You need to be careful, Iridium. Some at this school are seeing entirely too much of your father in you.”
“And that’s a bad thing why, exactly? Heroes are supposed to help people, not pose and ape for money.”
Night shook his head. “You talk like him, but you’re not nearly as smart. The world turns on poses and public faces, Iridium. The sooner you realize that, the better off you’ll be.”
“With all due respect, sir,” Iridium said, stepping around him, “I hope I never do.”
Night didn’t reply, but she felt him watch her until she turned the corner toward the dorms, eyes cold and hard as a knife in her back.